


Skjold

by CherryMountain



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Asgard, Awkward, Coronation, Drunk characters, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Magic, Midgard, Slow Build, Tournaments, sword fights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMountain/pseuds/CherryMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half mortal, half immortal, Dhanir Thorson is named Prince of Asgard. He struggles to prove his worth to his people, but in reality the only person who he had to prove himself to was himself. As he strives to discover this, he faces a few bumps along the road. More specifically a name to live up to, the confusing relationship with his best friend, and his new way to cope with loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to show how I ship Black Thunder, but it turned into a love story.
> 
> The beginning is kinda slow, but it unfolds into typical angsty relationship disasters. With barely any Black Thunder.

Dhanir took a deep breath as he walked up the stairs to his grandfather, who waited patiently, head held high, with all the authority of a king. The redhead paused at the top of the stairs, where he then knelt and bowed his head.

“Dhanir, son of Thor,” Odin said, and his voice boomed across the crowd, causing everyone to quiet down. He knew his father was grinning while his mother was smirking, both proud as they watched from behind, that his sister, too, was smiling, that his friends were bouncing, ready to call him prince. Officially. No doubt mockingly.

He was only being crowned prince, which wasn’t an official ceremony. Being a prince meant something completely different on Midgard than it did on Asgard. On Midgard they were royals, used in diplomacies and politics, seen as precious and looked up to, models of what you should be. On Asgard, everyone was equally respected, but the royals were seen as leaders, able to guide the entire realm. Followed because they were raised to be so. True respect. Dhanir already had their respect by being a part of the most skilled warriors of Asgard.

Odin stood defiantly, tearing Dhanir from his thoughts. “Do you swear to protect the realm and all its subjects, to know wrong from right, put forth good intentions into the well-being of the realm, and to make wise decisions regarding not only yourself, but others as well?”

Dhanir blinked, keeping his voice even yet loud for others to hear. “I do so swear.”

There were footsteps to his left, two guards approaching. Then he heard the whoosh of sword on sheath, and then Odin was speaking again. “This weapon will guide you in defending the realm,” he said, lowering the sword. Dhanir lifted his hands, and the hilt went into his right, while he held the blade with his left. He lifted his head to admire it. His sword, one he’d been admiring for a while now, fit perfectly for him.

Odin turned to the guards on his right, and retrieved the crown from the pillow. He wasn’t getting a helmet like his father, uncle, or grandfather. His was a crown, with the wings of his father’s helmet, signifying that all he learned came from that line. Odin lowered it to Dhanir’s head, and it settled perfectly across his temples. “May you wear this with pride, as a warrior of the realms, protector of the people, and prince of Asgard.” Odin settled his hands at his side and stepped back, finalizing their words.

Dhanir felt himself grin as he stood, bringing his sword to his side. Odin simply nodded to him, but Dhanir saw the pride and joy in his eye, and knew he had the respect of the king. Dhanir turned, facing the people of Asgard. He found the Warriors Three to his left, like uncles to him. His father stood on the right, who’d taught him so much, his friend Ghadrun, who had been Dhanir’s loyal friend as a child, the two had learned to fight together, and Tarhia, his little sister, only eleven but already intelligent and graceful. He searched the crowd for his mother, and her friends, who were all smiling.

Dhanir wasn’t supposed to give a speech, and he didn’t want to. He simply rose his sword, and the crowd cheered. He practically leaped down the stairs and headed out, leading the procession, and his people gladly accepted him.

* * *

Dhanir was being drowned by Jhawin, trying his best to keep his face neutral. He was going on about politics, which lady of which house would suit him best, but he’d told Dhanir this at every ceremony that Dhanir had attended. He knew that Sheera was skilled in archery and defiant, and that Fyurah was shy and loyal and open-minded, and that Neua was intelligent and trustworthy. But he wasn’t to choose someone until he was of age. According to his father that was at fourteen, but to his mother it was twenty-two. He had decided to wait until he hit twenty-two, which was next year.

He didn’t know how to tell this elder man to shut up, and thankfully, he didn’t have to. His best friend Ghadrun suddenly appeared, turning to face the elderly man with a serious expression across his face. “Jhawin, your presence has been requested.”

The elderly man straightened, then nodded to Ghadrun and bowed his head to Dhanir, then stepped away, newly determined.

Dhanir let out a sigh of relief and turned to look up at his best friend, a good half-head taller than him. Ghadrun reached out and gripped Dhanir’s arm, swiftly pulling him behind the columns and out into the hall.

Away from the music and the chatter, Dhanir let his entire body relax. “Thank you.”

Ghadrun grinned, taking a step forward to lead them down the hall. “I could tell you wanted out of there.”

Dhanir nodded, running his hand through his short red hair. “I’ve been in there for over an hour, I think they’ll be fine without me.” It was just a party, but it was for him. He was expected to show up, and he’d spoken to all the important people, and that was all that was needed of him. Half of them were already in fights in celebration, and it was only midday. There’d be celebrations all day.

“Not to spoil the mood further, but the crown…” Dhanir looked up to catch his eyes dart away. “It doesn’t look _bad_.”

Dhanir held back a laugh. “It feels weird wearing it. But it’s only for important events.” He shrugged. He’d ditched it as soon as he could once he was alone, before he began making his rounds of the midday feast.

“Want to get some more practice in?” Ghadrun asked him, meaning sword practice. It was something they both enjoyed doing, to pass the time and to practice new moves they learn.

Dhanir thought it over, debating. “I don’t think so, I just want to…” he gestured at nothing in particular, trying to convey what he meant. Hang out, relax? He’d always been the one that just wanted to sit there and talk, and Ghadrun had always wanted to engage in an activity. So they’d always compromised, doing both, or doing something in between. But now… he just wanted to enjoy the company of his best friend.

He wasn’t sure if Ghadrun picked up on this, but the tall, dark-haired man nodded. “As you wish, my prince.”

Dhanir grimaced, glancing up to see the teasing note in his friends eyes. “Don’t do that.”

Ghadrun’s grin returned. “As you wish, my-” Dhanir punched him in the arm, cutting him off, then both let out laughs.

Dhanir led them out onto a balcony that overlooked a courtyard and settled against the railing, leaning on his folded arms. He glanced over at Ghadrun, who seemed to be thinking over mimicking him, but he was a little too tall and thought against it, and instead folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against the railing.

As Dhanir looked over the fountain and into the distant shapes of Asgard, the realization of today hit him. He was prince now, after his grandfather and his father passed. His father immortal and his mother mortal. “What if,” he started, knowing his friend would be a metaphorical shoulder to lean on. “What if I don’t live as long?”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Ghadrun turn to look down at him, but Dhanir kept his gaze on his city, sincerely concerned. “What if I die before my father, because I’m half mortal? Then my sister Tarhia will be next in line, but she hasn’t had any training in ruling. I’m not even sure _I’m_ ready.” He felt his face frown, guilt filling him. “I’d let everyone down. And then Tarhia probably wouldn’t live that much longer. I don’t-” He let out a breath. “I shouldn’t have done this. I can’t-”

He was yanked upright by the sudden grip on his arm, then put face to face with Ghadrun, who looked slightly angry. “Stop,” he told Dhanir, and the redhead saw the quiver of fear in his friend’s eyes. Ghadrun blinked hard, seeming to fight back some emotion, and Dhanir’s guilt faded into worry for his friend. “You can’t think like that.”

Dhanir blinked. “Think like what?”

Ghadrun gave Dhanir a shake, his brows furrowing. “That you might die. If you’re thinking like that, think about how the rest of us feel. How _I-_ ” He shook his head, eyes darting down for a brief moment before moving back up to Dhanir’s, returning to slight anger. “If you don’t believe in yourself, then how can your people?”

After an intense moment of staring at each other, where Dhanir absorbed everything that his friend had told him, Ghadrun let out a laugh, extinguishing the tension, and released Dhanir. “Look at me, telling the prince how to act like a prince.”

Dhanir felt a smile tug at his lips, still confused as to what had just happened, how Ghadrun had seemed to become more emotional than him. The dark-haired man was always serious, and only allowed himself to open up around Dhanir, and sometimes even then it took him awhile to get comfortable with expressing. “Right, like I’m the spitting image of my dad,” he remarked sarcastically.

Ghadrun grinned. “You got you good looks from your mother, that much is obvious.”

Dhanir’s eyes widened for a moment, shocked at his friend’s words. He’d never been called… _good_ - _looking_ by Ghadrun. His friend had never mentioned anything like that, not even about women.

Ghadrun looked away with a frown, as if he’d just realized his own words as well, and Dhanir’s panic subsided. “I don’t think I inherited anything from my dad but determination.”

The joke seemed to work, bringing their conversation back before the odd statement.

Ghadrun hit Dhanir on the shoulder. “C’mon.”

* * *

At the arena an hour later, after Dhanir was given the privilege of announcing, “Let the games begin!” and the many games started, he searched for friends. Ghadrun, Thor, and the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif were all entering the games, so he found his mother, who was with her friends from Earth.

He approached the woman, discovering that his sister was nowhere in sight. Natasha’s friends, which were like uncles to Dhanir, grinned as he approached. Steve was the first to slap him on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

Bruce smiled at him across their circle. “Let’s hope you’re not as reckless as Thor.”

“You’ve got a lot to live up to, kid,” Clint said with a smirk, folding his arms across his chest.

Dhanir narrowed his eyes at him, because he was twenty-one, not a kid, but played along with the teasing. “I’ve beat my dad before in battle.”

“Now we’ve got two of them,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “The sword doesn’t let you control fire or anything, does it?”

Dhanir wasn’t going to mention that he was, indeed, learning how to wield magic.

“Where’s the alcohol at this party?” Tony suddenly asked, to no one in particular, completely forgetting his last question.

Bruce was the first to give a raised eyebrow. Tony shrugged. “What? This is Asgard, there should be ale everywhere.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “It’s not served until the feast tonight.”

Tony grinned, then turned to Bruce and waggled his eyebrows. “Can’t wait to see you drunk, buddy.”

“Uh, yeah, the Hulk wouldn’t like that too much,” Bruce said with a wave of his own brows, looking down and away.

“He’ll have to deal with it,” Tony said defiantly, folding his arms across his chest.

Clint leaned forward, as if challenging both of them. “Well, I want to hang out with drunk Hulk.”

Dhanir turned to his mother, ignoring whatever was happening between the three men and Steve, who attempted to understand why Clint wanted a drunk Hulk and Tony wanted drunk Bruce. “Where’s Tarhia?” He asked her, wondering if his little sister would be next to his mother in the stands.

Natasha gestured off into the crowd. “With Danalie, she’ll watch her for the day.”

Dhanir’s eyes widened with dread. “You’re not entering the tournament, are you?”

Natasha smirked, a glint of mischief crossing her gaze.

“What is this tournament, exactly?” Steve asked curiously, gazing out at the arena that was under them. He didn’t seem to catch on to Dhanir’s worry that he’d have to face off against his mother in combat.

“We battle, each warrior getting a chance to fight the new prince.” She turned her gaze to her son. “And I intend to be one of them.”

Dhanir was about to object- he had already asked his mother multiple times not to, for many reasons- but Tony spoke first.

“What do we have to do to enter this tournament?”

Dhanir turned his gaze to the engineer, his eyes still wide. He noticed Steve and Clint looked interested as well. “Aw, c’mon, guys.” They all stared, and he knew that they had decided.

“Scared you’ll lose to us?” Clint asked, brow raised.

Dhanir sent them all a glare but Bruce, who was giving him a sympathetic look. He’d fought with them, knew them well, but he also knew that they could stand a good fight. He didn’t know if he’d be able to beat them, because he really needed to do this to prove his worth to his people.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is literally just detailed fighting. Skim if you want.

Heimdall was first. It was intimidating, how huge the keeper of the Bifrost was. And he’d have to beat this man.

Dhanir took in a deep breath as the signal for them to begin echoed across the arena. He lifted his hand to grab the hilt of his sword off his back and brought the weapon around as Heimdall did the same with his huge sword.

They were about twenty paces between them, close enough for Dhanir to hear the gold man speak. “If you can defeat me, then I assure you that you will have the trust of the realm. Only the strong can defeat a gatekeeper.”

Dhanir didn’t think that was encouraging, per say. He’d only practiced with Ghadrun, his father, the Avengers, and some palace guards. Thor was strong, a good person to set standards on, but could _he_ even defeat Heimdall? And if he couldn’t, then how could Dhanir?

Dhanir, son of Thor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, lifted his sword.

Then he ran forward, unwilling to stand around and wait, and swung his unnamed sword. Heimdall lifted his own, and the two weapons clashed in a parry. Dhanir, hoping his swiftness would overpower Heimdall’s might, ducked and leaped to the side, causing Heimdall to stumble forward. The redhead aimed for Heimdall’s legs, but his sword barely moved the limb.

Then Heimdall was moving.

Dhanir shifted quickly to meet Heimdall, who was swinging his sword. The red head ducked just in time for the sword to swing right where his head had been seconds before, then rolled away. He stood again only to have to leap away once more to avoid the huge golden sword, then lifted his weapon to parry the blow.

Dhanir would have to think of some tricks, because if he kept this up, he’d most likely grow tired.

He quickly thought of a plan, and began it immediately.

He allowed Heimdall to advance on him, sending blows this way and that, with Dhanir blocking every one, all the while allowing himself to be backed toward the wall of the arena. Heimdall squinted his eyes at the prince, and Dhanir knew that he knew that he had a plan. But he continued his attacks, which Dhanir was grateful for.

Eventually, they made it to the nearest wall, where Dhanir shifted, and as Heimdall moved to lunge toward him, Dhanir turned and leaped at the wall, then with all his might he pushed against it with his legs. The momentum allowed him to leap over and around Heimdall, whose sword cut into the sand below them.

Dhanir shifted in the air to swing his sword at Heimdall’s shoulder, causing the large man to stumble. And that was all that was needed. He landed facing the back of the gatekeeper, and, with more force from when he pushed off the wall, he kicked at Heimdall’s lower back.

The gold man, with his earlier stumble and his current shove, couldn’t get his feet under him, and toppled forward. He was quick to flip up, but Dhanir was quicker and had already moved to stand over him.

The guardian of the bridge barely had time to lift his sword, and, unprepared, Dhanir knocked it from his grip and lifted his sword to settle at Heimdall’s neck.

Once he realized he was beat, Heimdall nodded to Dhanir, who smiled, proud. He dropped his blade, letting Heimdall stand and retreat from the arena, then took a moment to return his breathing to normal.

As he moved back toward the center of the arena, he searched the walls, looking for whoever would be his next opponent. As he waited, measuring how much sweat was seeping into his clothes, he finally caught sight of a dark figure dropping from the stands.

Dhanir shifted, simultaneously steadying his breathing, watching him approach. As he moved closer, Dhanir caught black wavy hair and bright green eyes, and he recognized that it was Ghadrun. He wore his brown and silver armor with his black cape, wielding his triple helix sword.

The redhead grinned; they’d just practiced an hour ago, and though both were skilled in combat, Dhanir was just a tad bit quicker. He would use it to his advantage.

He was thinking about possible opening moves as Ghadrun lazily advanced, when another figure dropped into the arena, causing Dhanir to freeze.

Steve had acquired basic silver-blue armor, and held his shield in one hand and a small axe in the other, albeit awkwardly. Ghadrun stopped, allowing the other man to catch up to him, flashing Dhanir a bright grin.

Dhanir attempted to compose himself, stretching his muscles. He was sure he could beat Ghadrun, but both at the same time? Both were warriors in their own right, strong in their own ways. It would be definitely be a struggle.

Ghadrun stood ready, sword at his side tightly gripped, but Steve looked uncertain. Dhanir knew the shield would be the captain’s main weapon, but he’d try to use the axe for the crowds’ appeal, who Dhanir now realized were filling the stadium with their roaring of approval.

Dhanir approached the two, giving his best friend a raised brow. Ghadrun grinned back, stepping forward. They walked to each other, swords at their sides, until they were about a yard from each other. Dhanir leaped, but Ghadrun was ready and blocked the blow. The two had fought so many times before during practice, they knew each other’s moves well.

Ghadrun shifted, and Dhanir stepped back before his friend could step into his personal space. Except, unlike most other times, Ghadrun took another step and brought up his knee, connecting with Dhanir’s hip. It was bold; most other times Dhanir would have strafed to the side, but Steve was there, and he couldn’t out his back to the man. Somehow, Ghadrun had sensed this and taken the opportunity.

Dhanir instinctively leaned over his bruised side, which he knew was a bad idea, but he couldn’t really do much about it. He did, however, drop his sword, knowing the long weapon was not going to do well in this tight space that Ghadrun had insinuated.

He thought quickly, reaching up and gripping Ghadrun’s chest, then immediately went limp. It wasn’t enough to pull his friend down, but as he fell toward the ground Dhanir kicked at his ankle, and with his weight and the kick, Ghadrun toppled down on top of him.

Ghadrun’s grunt came right next to Dhanir’s ear, and he was awkwardly half straddling Dhanir before the redhead could regain momentum and shove the man off him. As he rolled away from Ghadrun he retrieved two short swords from his back sheath, splitting them apart into two hands, and straightened.

To meet Steve, who was bringing his axe down on him. Dhanir crossed his blades and held it off, then shoved the weapon back toward it’s’ wielder. Then he swung his own weapon, Steve immediately lifting his shield to block the blow. Dhanir swung his other sword from a different angle, but Steve easily shifted and blocked that as well. He aimed low, but Steve leaped back to evade it.

Dhanir had little time to react when he heard the shifting of metal behind him to spin and once again cross blades with Ghadrun’s sword between his own. He took that short moment of parry to read his friend’s expression. Ghadrun looked focused, and when he looked focused, he always seemed angry, with his brows furrowed and teeth clenched together. When they were sparring, or carving in the dirt when they were kids, or participating in a chess game on Earth. In that moment time seemed to stop, and Dhanir wondered what he looked like when he was focused.

Ghadrun must have sensed him looking, because he suddenly looked into Dhanir’s eyes, face falling into a curious expression as he looked across Dhanir’s eyes, probably wondering what had caused the moment.

His eyes suddenly shifted over Dhanir’s shoulders, and that was when the redhead remembered that they were fighting in a tournament, in front of most of Asgard, not sparring in the training room.

He cut his swords across each other, effectively pushing Ghadrun back a pace. His friend immediately retaliated. When Dhanir leaped away from his overhead blow, he rolled to a stop right at Steve’s feet. Dhanir immediately shifted, knowing that was definitely a bad spot to be in during combat, and brought his legs around, kicking Steve’s legs out from under him. The move was effective, causing the man to drop his axe and catch himself with his now free hand. With the captain down, Dhanir stood over him and swung, but Steve brought up his shield and pushed him away.

Dhanir moved with the momentum and turned so that both men were in front of him. Ghadrun came at him while Steve stood, and Dhanir blocked his swing. He brought his leg up and kicked just before their swords connected. His best friend hadn’t expected that, and fell backward, his sword whipping through the air, causing Dhanir to lose one of his. Before Dhanir could use his lone sword and move to give a “killing blow,” he heard a whoosh of air to his right. The sound was familiar, like a sword cutting through air extremely fast, and he instinctively dropped to his knee just as Steve’s shield flew overhead.

Dhanir straightened, eyes widened, and turned to see Steve standing, weaponless. A moment later, Dhanir heard the clink of metal on stone, then the whooshing of air again. He barely moved before the shield was coming back at him from behind. As he straightened again, Steve was running at him, grabbing the shield from the air, and swinging it down and around.

Dhanir had always been amazed that Steve could use a weapon on offense and defense so skillfully, but he’d never been on the receiving end of  one of Steve’s attacks, and it kind of scared him.

The shield made contact with Dhanir’s shoulder, sending him reeling, right into a now standing Ghadrun. Dhanir ducked again, shifting away from his best friend, back toward Steve, because anywhere was better than being that close to an opponent. He brought up his sword before Steve could swing again, and it bounced off the shield with a clang.

Dhanir took a millisecond to breath, to try and come back to himself, but everything was instinct. Absorb and react. He tried to take a few steps back, to get some room, but his instincts told him to defend, not evade. The only reason they’d lasted this long because it was two against one, and Dhanir felt as if he was fighting for his life out here.

Then the shield was coming back toward him, once again cutting through the air, and Dhanir used all his strength to deflect it. Dhanir almost fell back with the force, but it bounced away, straight at Ghadrun. Dhanir watched as his best friend caught the disk with a breathless grunt, then looked down at it, surprised and confused. He looked up at Dhanir, shock written across his features, then tossed it back toward Steve.

Without hesitation Steve repositioned his shield and lunged toward Dhanir, who tried to defend himself. The shield connected with Dhanir’s hand, and he cried out in pain. His sword fell from his hand as it went numb, but he immediately searched for a weapon on the sand, because in seconds he’d be attacked again.

Somehow, they’d shifted around in an entire circle a few times, so his first short sword was only a few paces away. All three men seemed to spot this at the same time, and all three moved toward it at once. Dhanir threw himself hand first, and had to immediately roll to avoid a boot to the arm. As he settled on his back he swung his sword at nearby feet, causing Steve to jump straight into the air. He rose to a knee and did it again, catching an ankle, then was free of his attacker.

When Ghadrun took a step back, Dhanir was heaving. Fighting two, extremely skilled warriors was really wearing on him. What would an army be like? It’d be this multiple times over, because he’d have to keep an eye on _all_ the opponents around him, not just two. Luckily, he’d have Ghadrun on _his_ side.

Dhanir raced to his feet and faced the captain. Steve pulled his shield back, but Dhanir dropped and rolled toward the captain, bringing his sword across his left thigh as he rolled by the man.

Steve cried out as his shield went nowhere, and Dhanir was glad he got between the armor. He kicked behind Steve’s knee, and the man went down. The prince quickly brought his arm around the man’s neck and held a dagger there. Steve froze, shield at his side, breathing heavily, same as Dhanir. Finally, one of them had been defeated. The crowd burst into applause, and Steve cleared his throat. “Definitely your mother’s son,” he mumbled, and Dhanir felt his smile falter. What did that mean, exactly?

He couldn’t question it further before he stepped away from Steve, allowing him to leave the arena, and retrieved a small dagger at his belt. He threw it at Ghadrun, remaining crouched to throw another. Ghadrun swung at the dagger, knocking it from the air, but Dhanir threw the other, which caught his best friend in the arm.

Ghadrun hissed, looking down to his arm, but the armor had protected him. It was a worthy distraction, though. Dhanir leaped, his feet out first, kicking Ghadrun straight in the gut. The prince landed crouched over his best friend with a grunt, then brought his sword down pointed at his chest. Ghadrun let out a long sigh, and Dhanir finally relaxed, glad that this was finally over. The roar of the crowd returned, but quickly died away into distant noise.

Dhanir stood, giving a short Midgard salute to his friend. Ghadrun chuckled, also struggling with his breathing, and Dhanir turned to retrieve all his weapons. When he placed all of them in their sheaths but his long sword, he turned to watch Ghadrun near the arena wall. He leaped up onto it then sat, seemingly trying to regain his breath. Steve approached him and gave him a jug of liquid, then Ghadrun slapped him on the shoulder. They were probably commenting on each other’s performance.

He barely began advancing toward him before he heard a whoosh through the air, similar to Steve’s shield. Then he felt the sharp pain at his arm. Unlike his previous opponents, Dhanir only had armor across his lower arms with his gauntlets. His upper arms were only guarded by his coat, which went over his chest armor, but under his shoulder pads.

He stopped and looked down to see the cut through his jacket and the blood that dripped there. “…the hell?” he mumbled, before he heard it again. Dhanir barely ducked before an object flew over him and toward the one still behind him. He turned back around to catch his new opponent, who’d seemed to appear out of nowhere. Clint had no armor on, just his sleek coat and gauntlets, with short swords at his sides, and was retrieving another throwing knife. He flipped it in his hand before throwing it.

Dhanir took a large step to the side and grabbed the knife out of the air, spun, then threw it back. Clint took a step to the side to evade it, but it hadn’t been heading toward him directly, so there was no real danger there.

The next dagger hit him on the other arm, and when Dhanir refocused on his opponent, Clint had shortened the distance between them.

His battle with Clint was almost as short as Heimdall’s. Dhanir replaced his sword for his two short swords, to match Clint’s. Then they attacked, using both swords at different times, so that their blows were fast and a blur of movement. Block the first sword with this sword, then the next with the other, then repeat, neither of them gaining any ground on each other.

Suddenly Clint dropped one sword and swiftly retrieved a dagger, stepping in and swiping it across Dhanir’s stomach. It was concealed in armor, so it did nothing but bruise his stomach, but it still stung. Dhanir ignored the pain and lifted his knee, connecting it with Clint’s middle. The mortal didn’t react as Dhanir thought, ignoring it as if it hadn’t hurt, then brought the dagger back toward Dhanir’s thigh.

Dhanir brought both swords down to trap it, then spun and used his shoulder to hit Clint in the neck. He completed his spin, throwing Clint away, who stumbled but caught himself. The blond sheathed his dagger and grabbed his swords from the sand, then sheathed them, too.

Dhanir stood ready, waiting for possibly another throwing knife, but Clint simply lifted his hands in surrender. He backed away, leaving the throwing knives in the sand. “You got me, man,” he told Dhanir, but he looked unphased. Unbeat.

Dhanir was confused, and kept his sword up, ready for some trick, but none came. Clint disappeared, and Dhanir didn’t understand why he’d surrendered so easily. The crowd seemed to be confused as well, but after a moment they began clapping, albeit not as loud as before.

Dhanir was still confused when yet another noise entered the air, low and strong. He looked up just in time to see a large figure coming toward him from high up. The prince of thunder.

It was so fast, Dhanir barely had time to lift his sword to defend himself. Thor let out a yell as he swung his hammer, which was difficult to block. Dhanir lost his sword and was hit square in the chest, by a hammer or a hand, he didn’t know, but it sent a flare of pain across his chest and throughout his body, and he knew he flew back as he attempted to hold the pain at bay.

When he managed to control his spasms he straightened, fighting back a groan, to see Thor approaching him. Dhanir had trained for this, to fight back pain until he was close to death. He was the son of Thor and Natasha after all. He could put it off until he was safe, until he could relax, and didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder. He pushed the pain back and stood, then ran at his father, and at the last minute, before he could get hit again, he dove toward Thor’s feet.

Against a hammer- a hammer wielded by his father- he’d have to use his body to win. He’d watched his parents spar multiple times, though he doubted he could perform tasks exactly as his mother did. He attempted some of her moves anyway, having practiced on Ghadrun multiple times.

He wrapped his legs around one of Thor’s and managed to pull himself up. Thor attempted to grab him, but Dhanir grabbed his wrist and went limp, just as he did with Ghadrun earlier. Except, Thor was strong, so he wouldn’t go down that easy. Dhanir changed his course of action immediately and pulled his feet, pulling Thor’s knee to bend, and with an elbow to his father’s jaw, the immortal dropped.

As they tumbled to the ground Dhanir knew he couldn’t plant himself on his father. So when he landed he immediately jumped off Thor and created some space between them, grabbing his sword on the way.

Before he could straighten, he felt the air buzz around him, then heard the crackle of lightning and thunder. He spun, lifting his sword, just as the lightning surged toward Dhanir. He had no time to prepare. He had to move or be struck. His father knew he could dodge a straight bolt, had definitely insisted he learn how. What he didn’t know was that Dhanir had been practicing for exactly this.

He readied himself, and he saw the horror from his father, but Dhanir wasn’t dying today. The young prince gripped his sword with both hands as the lightning hit the weapon, and he spun, pivoting on his heels and bringing the sword back, so when he turned 360 degrees and pointed the sword at his father, the light went with the momentum and shot right back at the elder prince. Except it wasn’t lightning anymore. With Dhanir’s powers, and the help of his blade, he’d absorbed the lightning’s energy and redirected it as his own, a glowing gold of tendrils that struck Thor’s legs. Not exactly where he aimed, but he was still practicing, after all.

So Dhanir grinned at the shock on his father’s face as he was hit with his own blast and thrown back. Dhanir sheathed his blade, a grin stretched across his face. He had hoped that his revelation would be big, and this definitely fit.

Thor sat up with a small glare, but it quickly faded when he saw his son’s smile. After he stood he approached his son and slapped him on the shoulders with a proud smile. “Well done,” he said, then stepped away so he could leave the arena, but not without giving him a “we’ll talk later” look before he departed.

With a deep breath Dhanir looked up to the crowds, who, after a shocked silence, roared even louder than ever after his demonstration of magic. He imagined the shocked faces of his companions, the Warriors Three, Steve, Bruce and Tony, especially Ghadrun. He’ll be mad that Dhanir hadn’t told him.

His next opponent was the slowest to approach, and as they neared, he realized it was a woman. With bright red hair.

He really didn’t want to fight her, because she’d insist-

“No weapons,” she told him as she got close enough, and he saw that she had none with her.

Dhanir felt his shoulders slump forward, like a whining kid, but he quickly corrected himself and did as she asked. He lifted his sheath strap over his head and tossed it as far as he could, then waited, shifting his shoulders. This was a tournament, he would have to use hand-to-hand sometime, and it might as well be now.

She stopped ten or so paces from him, where they stared at each other. Then she rose an eyebrow, and he moved forward at the same time she did, raising his fists and ready to bounce on his feet for anything.


End file.
